


Interlude

by AnnaofAza



Series: There's Truth in Fiction [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed Dean, Episode: s10e05 Fan Fiction, F/F, Frustration, M/M, POV Castiel, Pining, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates the play for his own reasons, and Castiel wants him to say why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

"So, what did you think of the play so far?"

"It was _weird_ ," Dean carelessly dismisses. He's still dressed in the FBI suit, with one hand on the wheel and the other holding a burger that's soaking through the paper cocoon. Sam is fishing in the bag for more napkins, and Castiel is simply holding his own lukewarm burger on his lap. As an angel, he does not need to eat, but that's not the reason. His Grace is awry, and there's a strangely human twist in his stomach that hasn't eased since his conversation with Kristen. Sam keeps glancing at him with worry, but hasn't, thankfully, commented on it.

"I thought the effort they put in was lovely," Castiel protests.

"Well, the _play_ isn't 'lovely.' I mean, robots in space? Come on!"

"That's only for a brief scene," Sam says, placating. "But I do like it. It's all...charming, in a way."

Dean huffs, a short, harsh sound like laughter at the back of his throat. "You know what's not charming? People playing with our lives. We had enough of that."

"They're not exactly interfering, though. It's just...showing other people how they feel about what they've read. Interpretation and all that."

"Exactly," Castiel adds, noticing how Dean's jaw clenches tighter with every word. "What bothers you so much about it? They seem to have the general idea down..."

"Well, they don't." Dean snaps, pulling into the motel parking lot with a screech. Both Sam and Castiel wince as they step out of the car. "They don't know us, and they don't know me." He glances down at Castiel's hands, still enclosed around his uneaten lunch, and wrinkles his nose. "Dude, are you going to eat that?"

"I—" Castiel turns the burger over in his hands, noticing that the grease has soaked clean through of its wrapping and onto his skin. He resists the urge to wipe it on his pants, a leftover habit from when he had no Grace to speak of. "Yes, of course. I...I'm just not that hungry."

"Then why did I buy it, then?" Dean complains, but not maliciously. He only shakes his head in amusement and slaps Castiel on the back before grabbing the room key out o his pocket and swiping it. "Just stick it in the fridge for now, I guess. Maybe save it for dinner."

"Wait, are we eating out?" Sam asks, stepping into the room. He immediately turns on the air conditioning, then shucks off his jacket with a sigh.

"I don't know." Dean's also relieved himself of his jacket, now trying to loosen the knot of his tie. "Ah, damn it! Frickin' thing just won't come off."

"I'll help," Castiel volunteers, putting down the burger on the table and stepping into Dean's space. He places his Grace-cleaned fingers at the delicate vulnerability of Dean's throat, and even though he can easily undo the tangle with his newfound powers, he moves the silk in and out, mindful of how Dean swallows, now strangely stiff. The tips of his fingers brush ever so slightly at Dean's neck, above the sun-kissed patterns of freckles, and he remembers remaking this body, how gently he reconstructed flesh over soul. Castiel remembers reaching out with his Grace to comfort his human charge as his soul shuddered in fear, startling when he swallowed down emotions that had been muted to him before—love, protection, and anger.

"You got it," Dean interrupts, voice rough, taking over to pull the silken tie off his neck, and Castiel reluctantly draws his hands back. He's aware more than ever how more human he is, how that now he grasps the meaning of touch, a weight that means so much in so few movements. Castiel glances up, seeing Sam, from across the room, pulling off his shoes. Sam meets his eyes, and something passes between them that makes Castiel's stomach twist again. There's recognition in the younger Winchester's eyes, just like Kristen's, and Castiel immediately drops his gaze.

He busies himself with putting his lunch away, along with idly switching channels on the television. There's not much on at this time, except for a news story repeating what they already know about the missing teacher. Sam asks him if a certain medical show is on, and Dean throws his shoe at his brother before going into the bathroom to change.

Castiel realizes that he and Sam are alone now, and he opens to say something, distract him from—

"So. You like the play?" Sam asks casually, tossing his own tie over a chair.

"Yes, I did."

"I talked to the kids there, and they didn't seem to know what was up. Dean said he found a lot of bottles in the teacher's office, if you know what I mean." Castiel nods, and Sam continues, "The sets were amazing, weren't they? I remember when I used to do tech stuff before...everything. I really enjoyed it."

"That's wonderful, Sam. What did exactly did you do?"

"Um, lights. Music. Sound effects. Fixing the speakers. Curtains and all that." Sam laughs. "I never really wanted to act, but I loved watching it come together. I think Dean was more interested in the performance itself, but I liked seeing how stuff worked behind all the razzle-dazzle." He sighs, sitting down on the edge of the bed and crossing his arms. "I thought about doing it for a major, once, but I...I liked law better. I thought I would get to do some real good in the world."

"You have," Castiel emphatically reassures him.

"Yeah, and started the Apocalypse, besides." Sam shakes his head. "Don't get me wrong—I love what they're doing back there, but how could they...celebrate our lives? How can they like us? That's what mazes me."

"You and your brother are heroes, and both of you have great hearts."

"You do, too, Cas." Sam shifts to his right side, before saying: "Especially for...you know."

"Yes, I do know." The bathroom door squeaks, and Castiel panics. "Please, don't tell—"

"Tell what?" Dean asks, stepping out in his usual garb, comfortable flannels and jeans.

Sam glances at Castiel before saying, "Oh, just how Cas here _totally_ noticed that for someone who claims to hate musical theatre, you sure knew your stuff."

Dean flushes dark red. "I dated some drama girls in high school, that's all. I wasn't really into that scene. Dressing up and all that..."

"What about LARPing, then?"

"Sam, that's totally different. You hack things with swords, you know?"

Sam stares at his brother before rising up to take his turn at the restroom. "Yeah, Dean. I  _do_ know."

Dean flinches when the door shuts, and something in his eyes is tangled in worry and anxiety and anger—not at Sam, but directed at himself. Castiel aches for Dean, the boy who never was, and tries to break the silence. "Siobhan also wasn't involved in theater very much before she auditioned for the play."

"Who's Siobhan?"

"You. I mean, she plays you." Dean's jaw locks again, as Castiel goes on: "Her father didn't approve. I believe he thought it inferior to the other things he wanted his daughter to do."

"What are you saying?"

Castiel makes eye contact, trying to convey his sympathy through his next words: "I'm saying that you and Siobhan have something in common."  

Dean turns up the volume on the television set so loudly that Sam, in the other room, yells in complaint, but Dean ignores his brother in favor of narrowing his eyes at Castiel. "We are not talking about this, Cas. Ever."

" _Ever_ is a long time," Castiel tries to joke, but it's poorly received by the other man. "Dean, I'm always here—"

"Yeah, until when? Until one of your other angel pals drags you off to fix what you helped destroy?"

Dean's words cut him deeply, and he knows that Dean doesn't mean it, not truly, but something secret inside of him gnaws at his core with self-doubt. He’d thought they were past this whole thing, that he and Dean are now at that point where they’ve fallen into trusting each other implicitly again.

 _No_ , he has to remind himself. The issue is not with him. It’s with Dean, deflecting what he needs with distraction, and Castiel shuts the television off with a thought, before turning to Dean. “Don’t you ever try to manipulate my feelings like that ever again. You know that the state of Heaven weighs on me. It has, ever since I defied it for _you.”_

Dean flinches, as if he’s been struck.

“I don’t regret it,” Castiel says. “I don’t regret ever meeting you, but I’m beginning to have my doubts whether you regret meeting _me_ , if you even consider me a friend.”

“I do,” Dean fiercely snaps. “Damn it, Cas, I—“ He halts his next words with the speed of a whiplash, then places his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas, I don’t—I don’t know what I would do if…I…” Castiel patiently allows Dean to try to say what he needs to say, letting the human touch him, a steady anchor. “We’re friends, Cas,” he finally says.

“Friends are supposed to share things with each other.” Castiel softly responds. _Friends._ But isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that what he wanted to hear? “Please, Dean, talk to me.”

Dean begins to get up from his place on the bed, moving his hand away, but Castiel catches it, so much like the night he pushed up Dean’s sleeve to reveal the Mark. He still feels it there, insidious and waiting, and fears when it will manifest itself again.

“ _Dad trained us both to track and hunt and kill/He took away our free will_ ,” Dean half-sings, underneath his breath. He looks as if the fight in him has bled out with those two lines. “Okay? The whole world knows it, and it’s on the fucking stage. And it’s the truth. It's who I am.”

He now moves to jerk away from Castiel’s hold, and Castiel lets him. He’s hurt Dean, and Castiel hates himself for it, but Dean needed to get this out. Dean stalks over to the door, opening it without looking back.

Before Dean goes, he pauses, tone forcibly light. “I guess Siobhan is a good fit, then. Not so bad. Anything else we have in common?”

Castiel thinks of Siobhan and Kristen under the lights, holding hands and looking as if the other held the stars in their eyes. He sees Siobhan lean in to place a chaste kiss on a pale cheek, with a secret smile for only one person. He recalls Kristen, content in the love that they share, and Castiel feels that ugly twist in his stomach again, envy warring with impatience.

“No,” he finally says. “Nothing else.”


End file.
